Riding Acromantulas and Understanding Magical Biology
by MinuSeveN
Summary: Taylor Granger and Amy Potter meet for the first time in Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Except not. "Does the name Panacea mean anything to you?" "Does Skitter to you?" - a.k.a. Taylor and Amy in Harry Potter.
1. Waking up to a Dream

**Riding Acromantulas and Understanding Magical Biology**

**Waking up to a Dream**

* * *

><p>Waking up  Re-orientation / Some questions answered / The magic Cape and the Letter / No matter where, or how / Incongruous

* * *

><p>After everything that I had seen and done these past weeks, I shouldn't have been surprised.<p>

I was tagging everybody in the platform who entered past the barrier with an unobtrusive fly when one of them just died. I sat up straighter in my compartment and sent another fly. Not two seconds after it had touched skin, it died. Just like that. The third I sent to rest on clothes and that one was not killed. It could be just a magical insecticide but I knew of one person who could do that too. Someone who had also been with me when it had happened.

Both hoping and dreading who I might find, I leaned out of the train's window and there, standing awkwardly just to the side of the barrier, was Amy Dallon.

* * *

><p>When I first woke up, I didn't really remember what had happened. For a while, I stayed like I was. And I was sitting on a chair, my head resting on my arms. I'd fallen asleep on top of a book. It hadn't happened for a while. Not since getting my powers. Something was wrong with this picture. It didn't match to what I was remembering.<p>

There had been… the Nine. Chasing Siberian, Brian leaning forward and then something… Flying… Sirius under me, Amy against my back…

Something was very wrong with this picture. I opened my eyes, scanning my surroundings, the sense of unease always there. I was in a room, my head on a desk and the sun coming from the window warming me.

Except it had been cloudy, raining yesterday even. And I had been outside, fighting the Slaughterhouse Nine.

I sent my bugs to scout and…

Nothing. There was nothing. I could finally put a name to the sense of wrongness that had been plaguing me.

I was alone in my head.

I took a deep breath, then another. There was no use in panicking. I needed to find out what had happened, what was happening, and fix it. It was harder than it should be. I did not have thousands of small points in the darkness to focus. It was just me alone. Had my powers been helping me keep calm and think rationally?

Bonesaw had blocked my powers before but this was nothing like it. There wasn't even the smallest hint of anything. It was like I was missing a part of my mind, a sixth sense that I had been born with. It was like I had never had powers in the first place.

Carefully, without making noise, I stepped away from the desk and chair. I was in a room, very much like my own yet not. A bed, a night table, a large wardrobe and two large bookshelves complemented the desk and chair. All in all, it was the type of room I would have had when I was smaller if it weren't for a few details. The colours were wrong and the extreme tidiness was something I had only picked up years later. Again, it felt vaguely wrong. It was the uncanny valley effect. Some things were right but there were details that did not fit and made it look off.

And there was no sign that I was in Brockton Bay, the view outside showing a suburban street, nice and flowering. Very much not destroyed by Leviathan's visit.

Something else worried me more, however. Myself. I had been injured and yet now I felt perfectly fine. There was a lingering soreness in my neck, the kind that happened when you fell asleep in an uncomfortable position, but I didn't feel the numbness and aches from my burns and bruises. And now that I was paying attention to my body, it felt uncoordinated and…. Not weak, but not as at ease, as strong as before. I looked down, seeing I was wearing shorts and a blouse. And definitely flatter than ever. I brought my hands up to confirm my misfortune and stopped, examining my palms. Were they… chubbier?

"Ah." I blinked. "This is…. Fuck." My voice was higher too.

Now that I looked carefully around me, the furniture's proportions seemed a bit off. Like they were bigger… or like I was smaller.

I needed a mirror.

Feeling accurately the loss of my powers, I opened the door to the room slowly. I had no idea of what was beyond it, and no way to know besides going and finding out by myself. I scowled. I had become too dependant on my powers. What if I ran into a Trump like Hatchet Face? I couldn't afford to become this useless.

But there was only a normal hallway on the other side, with a couple more doors and a stairway heading down. Now that I was outside, I thought I could hear people talking downstairs. Making no noise, I slipped to one of the other doors, thinking about the layout of my own home and opened it a sliver. The floor underneath was tiled. I entered the bathroom and closed the door behind me. It was bigger and in a much better state than my own. The furniture in the room had been too, without cracks or signs of being second-handed like ours. Like the one at Emma's house...

This was no time to think about that. All it meant was that this house belonged to people with a good income. High middle class. And it only added to the mystery of why I was here and what was going on with me. I approached the mirror and, at the sight of myself, went wide-eyed.

Because the mirror showed Taylor Hebert as she had been five or six years ago.

* * *

><p>This was me. Skinny, too tall for her age, wide-mouthed Taylor Hebert. But, had I really looked like this before? I looked good, healthy. My skin was smooth, there were no bags underneath my eyes. I knew my basic appearance had taken some hits, the stress of just going to school not letting me rest properly. I had never imagined it made this much of a difference. Then again, I'd never had the opportunity to observe my previous looks like this.<p>

I swallowed. How had this… happened? No, what was this? How had I ended up in my younger body, who knew where, with my powers seemingly gone? Were my powers gone because I was in this body, or because of something else? I braced myself against the sink, thinking. I was almost tempted to think of some sort of time-travel, but it didn't fit with the rest of it. Was time-travel even possible? Parahumans or not, it seemed like something impossible. But no, I thought I could leave that one out. An aging power then, working in reverse. That could explain my appearance. It didn't explain where I was and why, but other things could be at work. Too many things. What were the chances that all the powers involved to put me here, younger, would be available? And why? This didn't feel like anything the Nine would do…

The Nine were sadistic monsters. Jack Slash and Cherish, even Siberian and Bonesaw… they also enjoyed other things beyond physical pain. The Siberian liked the thrill of the chase, liked watching her prey slowly give up, for example. Mind games were also something they'd do. Could that be it? Some kind of illusion or Master effect to mess with my head? It sounded right up Jack's alley.

I pinched myself until I drew blood. It was painful and it changed nothing. Well, it was worth a try. A Master that could make me believe in all of this had to be very powerful. A little bit of pain wouldn't change anything.

But what did I do now? I had no idea how to break out of this illusion. I couldn't do anything. There was always the remote chance that it was something else altogether but I didn't think so. Bonesaw could have very well gone around in my head and disabled my powers directly, everything else could be explained with a cape that took over senses. So, what was the purpose of putting me in this place? So far it looked harmless. Jack would want to break me. Maybe make me defend myself and then drop the illusion and reveal the enemies had been my friends all along. Something of the genre.

I grit my teeth. I hated this. I didn't have enough information. I was going to have to play along for now.

Cautiously, I returned to the room. For an illusion it was incredibly real. Textures, smells, tastes and sounds. It would have been perfect if my body didn't still feel awkward like it had during those years I had had my growth spurt.

I was examining the book I had woken up on top of that was, ironically, about butterflies, when I heard somebody climbing up the stairs. With my powers I would have known more or less who or what it was and I would have known they were coming before they even started ascending. I closed the book, remembering the page, and grabbed it. It wasn't much, as a weapon, but it would have to do. I angled myself so that I had space to move, the door and the window in my field of vision. The door opened slowly and in poked a head.

"Taylor?"

I couldn't help it. "Dad?"

* * *

><p>No, it wasn't Dad. Like everything, the details were off. This man looked like my father to the point where I could comfortably call him an uncle. Tall and gangly, like me, with receding hair and glasses. His features were also familiar, the shape of his nose and chin, the colour of his eyes. What distinguished him the most from my Dad was his posture. He stood tall, proud. He did not slouch, he didn't have bone deep tiredness engraved in the lines of his face.<p>

With a jolt, I realized I was looking at what my Dad might have looked like if he didn't have to struggle everyday with a dying economy. If he didn't have to watch the Dockworkers slowly turn to the gangs or give up. If Mom hadn't died. I'd forgotten how young he really was, because Dad always looked like he was pushing fifty only being nearing his forties. I never thought that Dad had literally lost hair to the stress.

"You're awake already?" he pondered, then hesitated, "There's a guest downstairs who would like to meet you."

A guest? "Who?"

"A Professor McGonagall." Dad, or his copy, entered the room fully. "Apparently, you've been accepted for a special school and the professor's come to deliver the news."

"Which school?"

"It's called Hogwarts." He fidgeted.

This was not what I was expecting from whatever illusion I was trapped in. It just came out of nowhere. The name McGonagall didn't mean anything to me and Hogwarts…. Really? It didn't make any sense. What was the purpose of this? I was going to have to risk it. "Okay, lead the way."

Dad, because I couldn't think of this person in any other way, smiled and turned away. I tucked the book securely under my arm and followed at a reasonable distance. Down the stairs, we entered a living room and I had to bite my tongue to not say anything. My eyes got wet nonetheless and I blinked furiously to clear them.

Mom smiled at me from where she was sitting on the couch. "Hello dear. Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah." I was still sleeping, I supposed.

I felt a pang of shame, looking at Mom. If this really was what she had looked like years ago, I'd forgotten things. The exact way she smiled, the planes of her face and the sound of her voice. Time had blurred my memory but here she was, vibrant and alive, just like four years ago. And all I could think of was that this was a trap. There was no point in giving me my mother back unless they were planning to take her away again or were using her likeness to lower my guard.

"Taylor?" My father's voice brought me down to earth. He stood by Mom, one hand on the back of the couch, fiddling with some loose threads there.

I blinked. "Sorry."

"It's rather alright. It is an unusual sight for the first time." A different person said. My alertness had evaporated at seeing my Mom alive and well, so I had barely paid any attention to the third individual in the room. And what a sight she was indeed.

She wore no mask, but everything else just screamed cape. The green and blue robes she wore were reminiscent of Myrddin's with his wizard look. Between the hair pulled into a tight bun and the glasses perched on a severe face, she reminded me of the archetypal unforgiving teacher. Why an unmasked cape would be here, I did not know. Maybe this was more of a dream, because things were starting to not make a lick of sense.

"Professor McGonagall, I assume?" I managed.

"Indeed. Please have a seat, Miss Granger."

Granger? But nobody showed any signs of surprise, so I just nodded and sat on the couch. "What is going on?"

"First of all," said McGonagall, pulling an envelope from the folds of her robes, "you should have this. It's your acceptance letter."

The envelope was old-fashioned. Made out of parchment, it was sealed with actual wax. It came addressed as such, in green ink:

Ms. T. Granger

11 New Court Road

London

I looked up from the letter. My parents were eyeing me apprehensively and McGonagall continued sitting patiently. I broke the purple seal, noting the coat of arms, and took two pages from inside, both made from the same old paper as the envelope.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Dear Ms. Granger,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

I searched for words. Words questioning why I was in London of all places, why my last name was different and why one of the crazy 'magician' capes was here. But the only thing that came up was: "Mugwump?"

* * *

><p>"Mugwump?" repeated Dad.<p>

"Yes. Right here. Albus Dumbledore, etcetera, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump," did that word even exist? "International Confederation of Wizards."

Mom looked pensive. "I think I've heard that word somewhere, actually…"

McGonagall supplied the information, one eyebrow raised in undeniable amusement. And perhaps some astonishment. "The Supreme Mugwump is a political position of quite some importance and prestige in our world. It is effectively the spokesperson for and impartial mediator over the discussions of the International Confederation." I had a feeling the Mugwump had quite a bit more power, unofficially. "Which is, itself, something like your United Nations. But prospective students don't usually focus on that part of the letter."

I shrugged at her amusement. "I was curious." but she was right, so I tapped the paper and asked, "So, wizards, witches, magic…?"

"All quite real, I assure you," McGonagall said with a smile. "Would you like to see proof?"

I'd never met any magic cape in person. Those that waved their arms around, shouting nonsense and wore robes like... well, like the one in front of me. I also didn't believe that powers were magical, even if they gave the middle finger to the laws of nature most of the time. It didn't matter, but powers being magic implied a lack of control and explanations. Bonesaw had spoken about brain structures, of messing with them and subsequently our powers. She hadn't, fortunately, but her talk of passengers was anything but magical. But that wasn't what really bothered me about this situation. McGonagall had mentioned politics, spoken of a different 'world'. And this Hogwarts school. A school for powers? You couldn't teach parahumans methodically, because every single one was different and not fully understood.

The parahuman community had unspoken rules, underground arrangements and alliances. Nothing like this, with confederations and the like. Was this also intertwined with the normal government? I didn't know enough about anything to reach conclusions. Of course, it wasn't like it had to make sense. I was still unsure of exactly what was going on.

Still, I answered the self-proclaimed witch, "Yes." I barely remembered to add, "Please."

The professor reached into her robes and pulled out a wand, an honest-to-God wand of all things. She was really playing this up. Maybe it was a sort of tinker device, somehow? Beside me, my parents leaned in, transparently curious. McGonagall then waved it over one of the teacups on the table, transforming it into a mouse. A very real and animated mouse, that looked up at us humans curiously.

That... was something.

"So, this is magic?" I phrased it as a question. Was it a power based on changing things? What were its limits? Could she literally pull a witch and turn people into frogs?

"Transfiguration is but one of the many disciplines of magic. I teach Transfiguration at Hogwarts myself." She made a few more wand flourishes, turning the mouse blue, then shrinking it and then back into a teacup.

I couldn't really help myself, and interrupted. "Could you do an insect? Like, a spider or a butterfly?"

For a moment, the grey-haired woman seemed surprised, but then she smiled and the teacup turned into a beautiful red and gold butterfly. I still couldn't feel it. I'd hoped that, perhaps, something created from this power would be the solution, that it would interact correctly with my powers wherever I was. No such luck, but it had been a long shot anyway.

"There are also Charms, Potions, Runes… even things like Divination and Alchemy," continued the professor. With a wand flick, the butterfly was a teacup again. "Magic is a powerful and versatile tool. In the hands of a skilled wizard, it can do almost anything."

I nodded. "And Hogwarts could teach me that?"

"The transfiguration or using magic?" McGonagall questioned, guessing my intent. "As for the first, no student of mine would be allowed to take their OWLs without being able to do this much. As for the second, Ms. Granger, you wouldn't be the first muggleborn student that doubted their capabilities, but the Book of Admittance wouldn't have your name in it if you didn't have magic. Do you remember any time when feeling scared, angry or sad, strange things just... happened? Objects moving, disappearing, animals doing what you want?"

No. "Vaguely."

"Taylor," Dad spoke up, "remember... remember when we went to the beach and you climbed that huge rock and fell down?"

I'd gone to the beach every summer, back when Mom was still alive. But the beaches of Brockton Bay were nearly all sand. The few rocks there were wouldn't reach much higher than my waist. I played along. "Yes?"

"And then you slipped and fell and gave your mother and I the greatest scare of our lives." Dad chuckled weakly. "But you weren't hurt at all. You... floated down. We thought it had been a trick of the light, or that you'd bounced on the sand."

"Or that time you got your books all wet," interrupted Mom, "and the next day they were as good as new? Not a smudge or wrinkled page!"

"Now that you're telling me, I remember." I didn't, but denying it would only create more problems when I still wasn't sure of anything. However, it would have been incredibly useful to be able to dry books with my mind after I entered highschool. Maybe then we wouldn't have had to spend so much money on schoolbooks. "That was my... magic?" I asked McGonagall, who confirmed. "Right. So, now what?"

* * *

><p>Laying down on the bed, I stared at the ceiling. I could barely see the constellations made with glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the plaster. They looked accurate. The Ursa Major, Orion, the North Star marked with an extra large star. My dad knew about the stars. My grandfather would take him with him on his boat, a long time before the crisis, before parahumans even. Dad taught me some things about reading the night sky when I was little. It had stopped after Mom died.<p>

An old pain flared in my chest. It was even sharper than usual, and I felt like crying again.

I thought back to that afternoon. After demonstrating magic, Professor McGonagall had answered whatever questions I'd had. She'd already gone it over with my parents, and she explained to me what was going to happen.

Hogwarts was a boarding school in Scotland, considered one of Europe's best institutes of magical education. As a muggleborn, somebody from a muggle or non-magical family, I had been enrolled there by default. All that was left for me to do was to get the required school supplies and be at King's Cross Station the first of September. Assuming that I wanted to go. The professor had impressed to us that it was highly recommended. My parents... They had asked me if this was really what I wanted.

I'd accepted. It was an obvious cue. If this... dream, illusion or whatever, wasn't so realistic, I might have tried to go against the flow from the beginning. As it was, I didn't think it would work. Besides, if Hogwarts could really teach me magic, as they called it, it might be worth it. McGonagall had left then, and it was agreed that we would go to a place called Diagon Alley the day after tomorrow. And I'd been left alone with my parents. Their copies. I couldn't. Just looking at Mom, at her likeness, made my breath hitch. I'd excused myself as fast as I could, saying I needed some time alone to think.

I did need to think. I had to go back, but I didn't even know how I had ended up here in the first place. We had been chasing the Siberian and her projector, the real Siberian. I knew that much. But between being riding Sirius and waking up here things were too disjointed. I thought I had felt my bugs dying, but without my powers I suddenly wasn't sure of how that felt. It reminded me of being caught in Bakuda's explosions. There were missing moments, disconnects. Had the Siberian managed to knock me out somehow? Was I in a coma somewhere? Was this all inside my own head?

I ran a hand through my hair. The hair that was shorter than what I was used to. I exhaled. I wasn't going anywhere. The only thing I was managing was to frustrate myself, and there weren't any other tasks that I could use to distract myself long enough to approach the situation from another angle. Trying to reach out to insects, or any magic power of any kind, didn't yield any results.

There was a knock on the door. "Taylor?" sounded Dad's voice.

I straightened up immediately. "Yes?"

"Dinner's on the table."

I glanced at the window. The sky was darkening. I hadn't even noticed the time fly by, but now I recognized the feeling in my gut as hunger. I could even feel hungry here. "Alright. I'm coming."

I braced myself before opening the door. Dad was going to be on the other side. I hadn't spoken to him since that day on the beach. I hadn't eaten together with him for far longer than that. And this version of him wasn't going to be… awkward around me. Hesitant. Plus, Mom was also going to be there and I wouldn't have anything to buffer. It wasn't like I didn't want to see my mother again, but she couldn't really be my mother. At best, Annette Hebert as I had seen her was made from my memories. Mom… was dead.

I took a deep breath and left the room. Dad watched me with barely concealed worry as we went down the stairs. Mom was waiting for us in the kitchen. And on the table there was beef stew with carrots and other vegetables, something I hadn't smelled for a long time. Mom used to love that dish. It was a Welsh recipe she had read in a book and so we had that sometimes. Dad and I hadn't had it ever since the accident.

I didn't even remember exactly what it was called.

"Taylor!" Mom dropped down to her knees in front of me, holding my shoulders. The blurriness of my sight… I was crying. "Oh Taylor, darling."

"Sorry." She hugged me to her chest, rocking back and forth. Desperately, I clung to her, trying to breathe through the sobs rising up. Mom's scent, just the feel of being in her arms again, even if it was all just simulated, I wanted this. Right now I just wanted this. Dad hugged us both from behind, pressing me more into their arms. I was going to get snot all over Mom's shirt. "Sorry, I'm sorry."

"Taylor…" Mom waited a bit before gently pushing me away. I wiped my eyes and nose with the back of my arm. "Look at me, Taylor, and listen." I did. "We're not sending you away. You don't have to go if you don't want to. We love you. Professor McGonagall spoke with us and if you don't want to leave we can get you tutors to teach you here at home."

"It's not…." How could I tell them? I just… "I just miss you. I'll miss you so much. I don't…" I sobbed. "I don't want to… to come back and you're…" Gone. I broke down again.

"Hey, hey Taylor, shh. Up you go!" Dad picked me up with ease, like I was a kid again. And I was wasn't I? I couldn't help a strangled giggle. "See, Dad makes everything better," he joked, then spoke more seriously, "We love you kid, and it doesn't matter if you go to a magical school with pointy hats and brooms and toads; we'll always love you. You're my little witch."

Mom piped up from my other side, brushing hair away from my wet face. "Always. Even if you get warts and green skin and start turning boys into rats."

I cried more. They didn't know about Skitter, Coil and Dinah. About the deals I had made, about the Undersiders and the people I had hurt and let be hurt. They didn't know I was a supervillain trying to take over the city, a person who had scared and hurt innocent people, a person who had let others die because she needed the practice. They weren't even real!

But I believed them. I wanted to believe them so much.

* * *

><p>Night had fallen over the streets of London. Instead of being in bed, I sat near the window, trying to get as much light as I could on the butterfly book. I yawned. It wasn't even midnight, but already I felt tired and sleepy. A side-effect of being ten again, I supposed. But my parents had only gone to bed half an hour ago and I couldn't get caught. I needed to be sure they were sleeping before I went to work. If I still had my powers, it would be trivial.<p>

But I didn't. So I waited.

It reminded me of my first night out, my only night as a superhero. In hindsight, I had made so many rookie mistakes that night that I still didn't know exactly how I'd survived. But back then, I'd waited for Dad to fall asleep too, before leaving to 'patrol'. If I hadn't been so lucky, the next morning Dad would probably be woken by PRT agents knocking on his door. I shivered. Dad… and Mom. It felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders after I'd had my cry. I had really needed that, more than I would have ever thought. There was this almost urge to just cuddle with them on the couch and watch a movie, without a care. To pretend this was real and forget everything that had gone wrong in the next years.

No. I couldn't let myself fall into that mentality. For all I knew, that was even what this dream was all about. A honey trap. But I could see it at work. I had to get out of here, wake up. The Nine were still out there. Jack Slash couldn't leave Brockton Bay alive.

I closed the book with a little bit more force than strictly necessary. I strained my ears, but the house was quiet. The only sounds were of clocks ticking away and from the streets outside. Carefully, I left my room and went downstairs. Every creak and noise made me cringe a bit. The floorboards of this house were much less noisy than the ones from our old home, but unlike there, I didn't know all the spots and places to avoid. Feeling my way through the dark ground floor, I managed to get into the kitchen and close the door behind me. The lightswitch took a bit more time to find. With a low whining noise, the lights turned on. I held my breath, but it didn't seem to have woken anybody up. Letting the door open just a sliver, I had just enough light to see by in the hallway and living room.

I set to work. There were two car keys on the key hanger by the fridge. Dad's wallet was on the countertop, and Mom had her things inside her purse. I also grabbed a newspaper from the living room. Spreading them over the kitchen table, I started reading.

Daniel Jacobs Granger and Annette Rose Granger were both dentists. They belonged to the British Dental Association and were surgeons at a private practice in London. It was strange imagining my parents, my father even more, as dentists. My father had an Associate's Degree, and Mom had been forced to put her Master's on hold and start to teach to give birth to me. Yet, it explained the big house and London suburbs. And there were things that only showed that, doctors or not, they were my parents. Dad owned a boat and fishing rod license. Mom had tickets for a play at Shaftesbury Theatre.

It gave me pause, but it was the newspaper that made me gasp.

July 23rd, 1991. Twenty years before yesterday, four years before I was born. And the news were all wrong. There were no articles about capes, no mentions of tensions with South America, with the Soviet Union, no CUI conspiracies, not even big, important things like Endbringer rebuilding efforts. Nothing.

It didn't make sense.

It was, apparently, 1991. Had the Protectorate even existed back then? The Triumvirate, known by its old name? I knew both they and the PRT had formed before I was born, but the exact year escaped me. For once, I actually wished I had paid more attention to Mr. Gladly's classes.

I closed my eyes and stopped. I had to be logical about this. I wasn't even in the States, I was in the U.K.. The heroes here were the King's Men. I didn't know anything about them, except they organized themselves by suits, like cards, and that they were an organization in decay ever since the Simurgh had hit London in 2000 something. Dates, what other dates did I know? I knew some of Behemoth's appearances, a morbid joke since I'd been born on one of those days. The first Endbringer battle ever had been in 1992, against him. So no news about capes was possible, right? It could be a slow day in Europe. Scion had appeared in '82, capes started being more than rumours by the middle of the eighties, but it was the Endbringers that had suddenly and firmly brought parahumans to the forefront of everything. The PRT had only formed after that, I remembered that now.

What else did I know? The Slaughterhouse Nine, I had researched some about them. Mannequin had been Sphere but the dates escaped me. The Siberian had killed Hero in 2000. Jack Slash had been leading the group ever since... '88.

"Damn!" I cursed, then bit my lip.

No. There had to be some articles, references, no matter how small or obscure. And some things just plain didn't make sense. The Warsaw Pact had been dissolved? It hadn't, at least not yet! Conflicts in Berlin, but no mention of the Gesellschaft.

I felt like I was reading an old newspaper from… from Aleph. From a world without parahumans.

I almost tore into the living room without a care, restraining myself just enough to keep the noise down. I was looking for photo albums. But when I found them, I couldn't find what made sense to exist, if I had replaced an analogue of me on a parallel Earth. I couldn't find Emma. If I was here, my parents too, changed as they were, then at this age so should she. We were like sisters. I knew she was on our photo albums as much as I was in hers. Both relief and dismay filled me. I didn't even know why, I hated Emma. I hated what she had become, but maybe I still loved what she had been with the same part of my heart that would always want my mother back, no matter how impossible it was.

An illusion, a parallel world, I didn't know anything anymore. A place with magic and witches but without superheroes. No supervillains either.

If I went to sleep, would I leave this twisted dream?


	2. Diagonally

**Riding Acromantulas and Understanding Magical Biology**

**Diagonally**

* * *

><p>The entrance  Meeting at the Bank / Familiar interactions / A girl's best friend / Tools of Magic

* * *

><p>"It should be somewhere around here." Dad looked around, searching. "Can you see it, Taylor?"<p>

"Not yet." And I had been looking for it. All around me, the streets of central London shone with their old storefronts, theatres and tourists everywhere. I'd never seen anything like this. The Boardwalk didn't even compare; Brockton Bay didn't even compare. London was an old European city and I was right in its cultural centre.

I had to admit it, it was pretty... nice. Charming, I supposed. Ancient in a good way, instead of the oldness that just made the buildings of Brockton Bay look decrepit. Oh, there were tourists like I'd only seen on the Boardwalk, even then less, and technology-wise the nineties didn't even compare, but I couldn't see surreptitious gang tattoos or mercenary enforcers prowling around. This city was safer. Better.

"Charing Cross Road isn't small. Let's keep walking and we'll find it," Mom interrupted, pulling us along.

Somewhere in this street, there was a store that only I could really see. I was still a bit skeptical of this whole magic thing.

In the meanwhile, my eyes couldn't help but be drawn in by the numerous bookstores and neatly arranged facades. This was a touristic place, like the Boardwalk, and well-maintained. Those typical black london cabs you saw in movies were everywhere and several groups of tourists gaped at their surroundings. It made some sense that the entrance to the centre of magical London, as McGonagall had described it, would be in a location both well-known and easy to get to.

I walked between my parents, holding hands with both of them. Two days had passed since I had woken up in this other world. Whether it was real or illusory I still didn't know, but it certainly affected me like it was real. Hunger, thirst, fatigue, pain… as far as I cared the level of detail was real enough. Yesterday I had spent the entire day with my parents and I kept slipping into thinking they were really there. I kept correcting myself in my head until I just gave up, the endeavor too costly for its worth. I knew I couldn't be sure of the reality of my circumstances, but the mental backpedaling I kept doing wasn't helping me anywhere. It was already enough that I had used obviously American vocabulary and made them glance worryingly at me. Their accents weren't too obvious, so I slipped into it with no great problem. Mom had loved British accents as much as she had hated Australian ones, and when I was younger we'd read books out loud in outrageous Scottish voices. It was still weird hearing Dad complain about the petrol prices rising though.

And then I spotted the Leaky Cauldron.

"Found it," I called out to my parents, stopping right in my tracks. My eyes had been passing over another big bookstore when I saw the place. Mostly because it was small and dark. It looked like a building from two centuries back had been transplanted right into the street and nobody noticed it. People walked past it but never even looked that way, like it didn't exist. It had to be the place.

"Where?" asked Dad. His eyes jumped from the bookstore to the record store on the other side of the Leaky Cauldron. I pointed it out, but still he didn't see it. "There's nothing but an abandoned building there… wait." He stopped short, brows furrowing. A stranger effect.

"An abandoned building on Charing Cross Road? And yet I don't think I'd think twice about it if Taylor hadn't pointed it out to me." Mom nudged him with a smile. "A perfect description of the place then. Lead on Taylor."

Somewhat nervously, we crossed the road and entered. To me it looked well-maintained if old, but to my parents it probably seemed like they were entering a condemned building. If I wanted to be kind, I'd say it was rustic. The Leaky Cauldron's inside matched the outside. It was dark, gloomy and the clientele looked just as odd as the building. The front door opened to a large dining room with a bar on the side, various chairs and tables strewn around. In an empty corner, a large fireplace sat with ash marks in front of it. It also seemed like long, ridiculous robes weren't a formal or traditional dress, but actually the fashion for these people.

As the door closed behind us, people lifted their eyes to us and stared, only a couple returning to their glasses and papers. There was an old lady smoking a long pipe that spewed flower-shaped smoke, a teen only a year older than I was, had been, with shocking blue hair scribbling away on a piece of parchment. A man with a heavy-set jaw in particular glared our way. I stared back, unflinching. Our deadlock was broken when a woman sitting by the counter got up and exchanged a couple of words with the bartender, before striding towards us. Up closer I saw it was McGonagall attired in a different robe, this time dark purple.

"Good morning," she greeted each of us with a smile, "Dr. Granger, Dr. Granger, Taylor."

Then she introduced us to Tom, the bartender that owned the Leaky Cauldron. The old man welcomed us enthusiastically, noting how nice it was to have a new witch pass through his establishment. My parents cringed somewhat at his toothless smile, reminding me once again they were dentists here. He led our group to a well-used courtyard surrounded by tall brickwalls.

"You need a wand to open the gateway," Tom explained, wand in hand. "The young lady will get hers today, but if you ever need to pass into Diagon Alley by yourselves just speak to me and I'll open it. Now watch here and remember the brick."

He pointed at the side of the wall.

"From here, three up, two across." The tip of his wand tapped one brick three times. "Three taps."

The stone wriggled by itself and sank in, leaving a small hole. A hole that grew in seconds as bricks re-arranged themselves and disappeared, forming a large archway. Beyond, a cobbled street full of colorful and unique stores extended somehow. I wasn't sure we were even in London anymore.

And I took my first steps into the wizarding world.

* * *

><p>Diagon Alley, which was a horrible pun by the way, could only be described as colorful. Eccentric, chaotic, out of a fairytale. All along a narrow, cobbled street, a crowd moved from store to store, talking, haggling, window-shopping. Wizards and witches in robes of all colors, pointy-hats, strange combinations of clothing that would get them pointed to the nearest asylum in a normal street, out shopping in the old-fashioned way. I distinctly heard a woman pass us by complaining under her breath, "... out of Doxycide, unbelievable. How can they be out of Doxycide already? Winter's coming!"<p>

And, even more than in the streets of London, there was a homely cheer to the atmosphere. If Charing Cross could be compared to the Boardwalk, then Diagon Alley was like the Market in Brockton Bay, if it sold dragon liver and tomes of forbidden knowledge.

"It's amazing," said Mom. "So, what do you think? Excited?"

To tell the truth, I wasn't quite sure. I still didn't know what was going on. But I didn't want to disappoint Mom, looking at me expectantly. I tried to put as much excitement as I could into my voice. "I've never seen anything like it!" And it was true.

"It's quite strange, isn't it?" commented Dad. "So, where should we start, Professor?"

"With acquiring the proper currency."

The old teacher lead us down the street to a white building, larger and taller than any other in this place. White marble columns, doors of burnished bronze. It exuded richness. Gringotts, the wizarding bank, actually reminded me of Central Bank and the day I had started my supervillain career. It did seem to be much better protected, with armed guards and all. According to McGonagall, the vaults were all underground in a tunnel maze. It also was staffed and owned by goblins, who were half-sized persons with pointy ears, noses and teeth like sharks. They looked perpetually angry with everybody, but did not seem attach any particular hostility to us.

Opening an account in my name so that we could exchange pounds for galleons, sickles and knuts, the magical coins, involved filling out a few forms and giving a bit of my blood. The goblin teller assigned to us explained the basics of banking between worlds, as it were, while we waited for my new vault key to be fetched. The current exchange rate was five pounds a galleon and the solid gold coins could not be sold in the muggle world. They would know if it happened, he warned us with a wide smile. Goblins also made sure the economy between both sides was balanced. It looked to me as if they acted like the Number Man, the entity that acted like a financial intermediary to parahumans. Apparently they worked with the Ministry, but I had no doubt that they also provided other, certain services for other certains fees.

As we were preparing to leave, a voice called out to us, loud even in the noisy marble hall. "Professor McGonagall! How good to see you!" A tall man with a rosy face and messy beard approached, followed closely by a teen.

Our chaperone turned and raised an impeccable eyebrow, but smiled. "Mr. Diggory. I didn't expect to see you here. How do you do?"

"Good! Very good." He bounced on his heels. "It's another year, another day spent at Diagon Alley buying school supplies. I brought Cedric here... I'm sure you remember him." He pulled forward the teen, who looked uncomfortable with his father's actions.

"Indeed I do, he's one of my best students." Mr. Diggory seemed incredibly proud, and I got the feeling he had intercepted us just to show off his son. McGonagall proceeded with the introductions. "Amos Diggory and his son Cedric. He's a Hufflepuff student, third year now. Drs. Granger, and their daughter Taylor. She'll be starting at Hogwarts this year." There was a round of handshakes and greetings.

Cedric and I shook hands. He looked older than he was, tall and broad-shouldered. His eyes were of a striking grey and his face was starting to sharpen into a more adult look. He would be handsome when he grew up some more. "Hi, nice to meet you."

I was suddenly aware of the small size of my hand against his. "Me too."

The adults exchanged a few more pleasantries, Diggory explaining that he really had something to do for a certain Mockridge. "Come along Cedric!" He called.

Cedric hesitated and asked, "Dad, could I go with Professor McGonagall?" He continued before his father could say anything. "Taylor's going to visit most of the shops I need to go to. We'd save some time and I could show her around the magical world. If you wouldn't mind mind, that is," he told us.

Mr. Diggory was lost for words. "Well…I… I don't see why not." Then he brightened considerably at his son's responsible actions, and gave Cedric some money so he could come with us.

"I'm sorry to impose," Cedric said as we left Gringotts, and shot me a conspiratorial wink. "But I needed to get away for a bit, and my Dad is going to spend hours speaking with the goblins. I'd much rather go with you."

I smiled. "I don't mind. Really."

* * *

><p>With Cedric along, we'd gone to a series of stores looking for the best quality versions of the items on my list. He was a real help, and McGonagall had let him take the lead while she chatted with my parents. At the moment, we were at Flourish and Blotts buying my schoolbooks. I hadn't been in a bookstore like this since that time with Brian, before everything went to hell. Books were everywhere, both old and new. And these had images that moved, sparkly decorations, some even moved. Mom was entranced with them and so was I, until I noticed how Cedric was smiling at me. This was actually reminding me a lot of that day with Brian.<p>

"So…." I searched for a safe topic as Dad paid for my books. "The professor said you were a Hufflepuff student?"

"Yeah, I'm a badger, and proud of it." Cedric must have noticed my look because he looked down sheepishly. "Right, you're muggleborn, so you wouldn't know about it…"

"Not a clue."

"W-well, in Hogwarts, students are divided by Houses. There are four of them, named after the founders of Hogwarts. Gryffindor for the brave, Slytherin for the cunning, Ravenclaw for the witty and Hufflepuff for the loyal." Cedric thumped his chest boyishly.

I chuckled. "How do they decide which House you belong to?"

"Sorry, that's a secret." He waggled a finger and continued explaining, "your dormitories and schedule depend on your House, so your House sort of becomes your family. You sleep, eat and have classes together. Also, during the year you can gain or lose points for your House, if you answer a question right or break the rules, for example. In the end of the year, the House with more points wins the House Cup."

It seemed like a weird system. Instead of having inter-school competitions, they had an intra-school competition? Then again, I hadn't heard about any other magic schools. "Did Hufflepuff win last year?" I asked as we left the bookstore. Mom was talking animatedly with Professor McGonagall while Dad carried my new cauldron, in pewter, stuffed with books and other miscellaneous things.

"Ah, no. Slytherin's been on a winning streak. They've won the House Cup for the last six years…. They won the Quidditch Cup last year too," he groaned.

"Kwi-what?"

Cedric laughed. He was starting to explain the rules of the weirdest game I'd ever heard of, it sounded like somebody had two or three games rolled one, when a person yelled ahead of us. Then something slammed into me.

I was sent crashing to the pavement, the breathe being forced out of my lungs. I tucked my head in, not wanting to hit it against the stones. I raised my arms to ward off my attacker and met soft fur. A dog was half-standing on my chest, now barking loudly near my face. I couldn't hear anything.

"Stop. Down! Stop!" I forced my hands over his muzzle, quieting him. Surprisingly, he stopped.

"Taylor! Are you alright?!"

I ignored the people asking about me. The black labrador, much larger and intimidating when I was this small, was very familiar. I knew this dog. This was Sirius. I swatted him. "Bad. Off me, now."

Chastised, the labrador back off and Cedric helped me to my feet. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. He just surprised me." I scratched Sirius' head.

The older boy looked incredulous, staring at the dog that had knocked me over. Sirius' head stood easily at my belly's height, the black dog positively massive compared to me. If he had wanted to maul me, I'd be a goner for sure, but I had more important things on my mind.

Sirius pressed his head harder against my hand, asking for petting. Sirius was here and he recognized me. I wasn't alone, even if my only company was a dog. How was Sirius here though? And why here, in this place, rather than with me? Was he alone, the only one, or were there more of us around? Were Brian or Rachel around?

"Merlin's beard! What's going on here?!" My parents and McGonagall finally got through the crowd around us.

Nearly at the same time, a man in a rough leather apron and gloves forced his way through. "Caught you," he panted.

All eyes were planted on Sirius, who had raised his hackles. I looped my arm protectively around his neck. I'd just found Sirius, but I didn't think they were here to let me keep him.

* * *

><p>I didn't have time for hesitation. I called out to my parents with as genuine a smile as I could manage, "Mom, Dad! Can I keep him?"<p>

"Keep him!?" yelped Cedric right next to me. "He attacked you!"

I shot him a glare. I needed to convince my parents and he was not helping. "No, he didn't. He was just excited, that's all."

"Taylor," my father said, "what exactly happened here? Where did that dog come from?"

"I'm very sorry, sir, that would be my fault." The man in the dirty apron spoke up with a forced laugh, "he was getting unruly in his cage and somehow managed to escape. I'll take him back to the shop now." He reached for Sirius and backed off when the dog started growling very loudly. "Bloody dog!" He took out his wand.

"No." I interposed myself between them. "He was just looking for me. I'll buy him. How's that?"

"Whoa, whoa, Taylor! Calm down!" said Dad. "I'm not saying no." He raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. "But maybe you should think a little bit before committing yourself to this. A pet is a big responsibility after all. Are you sure you want this dog?"

I had to admit that it threw me off that Dad didn't say anything about how expensive a dog could be. Then I remembered my parents were dentists, here. I looked at them. Dad seemed alarmed, hands raised and brow furrowed slightly. Mom was worried. I could see it in the way she bit her lip. I hadn't seen that expression on her face since… that day. A shiver crawled up my spine and I hugged Sirius closer to me.

One deep breath. What should I say to convince them? Two deep breaths. Letting Sirius go was not an option. He was the only clue I had as to what happened. My only untainted connection from this waking dream. A lifeline.

Finally, I spoke. "Yes. I'm sure, Dad. Mom." I caught their gazes and tried to convey all the sincerity I could. I needed this. "I know a dog is a big responsibility and a lot of work. It's not a toy. But I promise I'll take care of him. I'll feed him, wash him, take him on walks. Everything. Our house has space for a large dog to be comfortable and… I'll pay for his food too."

The adults seemed impressed by my short speech, and exchanged looks. I had to remember I looked only about ten or eleven, not fifteen. Had I overdone it? Did I even have an allowance already?

"This one dog?" asked Mom seriously.

I nodded. "Yes."

"And what will happen to him when you're away at Hogwarts?"

Stupid. How had I forgotten that? Hogwarts was a boarding school. "I was thinking about taking him with me…" I managed to say without looking too nervous. I stole a glance to see how Professor McGonagall reacted.

The stern-faced witch had never looked more like a disapproving, british governess. "That's highly irregular, Miss Granger. Hogwarts students are permitted only cats, toads or owls."

I saw Cedric look suddenly uncomfortable.

"Bollocks!" Exclaimed the shopkeeper, startling all of us. McGonagall shot him a scandalized glare and he blanched, stepping back. He continued, more subdued, "I apologize. But Professor, you know that's not true! I sell rats and reptiles and all sorts of things to Hogwart students. I'll bet you there are more Puffskeins in that castle than toads!"

McGonagall bristled, indignant. "A dog is not something like a-"

"Excuse me?" Mom cleared her throat loudly. "Let's not argue, please. If it comes down to it, then I'm sure the dog can stay at our house."

"No, no!" the dirty shopkeeper intervened again. Was he on our side or not? "What if it has crup blood? It could be dangerous to leave him with Muggles!"

"Crup?" asked Dad, bemused by another new, strange word.

"Wizard-bred dog" said Cedric at the same time the shopkeeper boasted, "the best companion any witch or wizard can have."

"Crups are also instinctively violent towards muggles." Added McGonagall snidely. "To own a Crup requires a license, showing that the wizard can control it in muggle areas."

I straightened up, a plan coming to mind. "Sirius. Sit." I commanded. The labrador immediately sat on his hindquarters, looking at me expectantly. "Lie down." Then, after he'd complied, I looked him in the eye and said more forcefully, "Stay." When I walked back to my parents, he didn't follow. "See, he obeys me. Sirius. Here." He bounded up to me, asking for petting.

"Wow." Cedric whistled. "How did you manage that?" My small audience looked both curious and surprised. I shrugged in fashion of an answer. They didn't know, but all of Bitch's dogs were trained, probably even better than police dogs. More, Sirius knew me, and knew he should obey me. Now, even if they didn't let keep him at Hogwarts, at least they couldn't object to me getting him.

"Sirius?" Professor McGonagall suddenly asked.

"It's his name." A name he hadn't been given yet, I realized almost too late. "It fits him, I think. The brightest star of the sky. And he likes it, don't you Sirius?" I scratched him behind the ear.

"Yes. Quite indeed." The older witch stared fixedly at Sirius for a moment, looking unhealthily pale. She coughed, clearly trying to hide how ruffled she was, and addressed my parents. "So, you intend to buy this dog after all, Dr. Granger?"

"It certainly looks like it," my father answered the professor. My mother nodded at him and he corrected himself, "yes. We'll buy him."

"I see. Then, perhaps, your daughter and your wife could go to Ollivander's to buy Taylor's wand? While I'll accompany you to the Menagerie to take care of everything. Ownership documents."

My parents exchanged a couple of words and agreed. The professor conjured a leash and I passed Sirius to my father.

"I'll go too," said Cedric unexpectedly. He smiled ruefully. "I have to get food for my Puffskein."

* * *

><p>A bell jingled as we pushed the door open. Unlike every other shop in Diagon Alley, Ollivander's was tiny, dark and full of dust. Eerie. I observed the place. It was cramped, like all the shops we'd been to, but not because of any disorganization or overly encumbering objects, like cauldrons. No, this space was clear from any ornaments, with just a chair, boxes that probably contained wands only against the walls. The shop itself was just narrow, squeezed between two bigger buildings.<p>

And nobody was in. Mom gently tightened her grip on my hand and nudged me forward. I complied, but still couldn't shake the feeling something was off.

"Good afternoon."

My heart nearly jumped out of my chest. An old man had appeared in front of us, there in the time I'd taken to examine a shelf. Teleported. His eyes were strange, a blue so pale it looked silver. Some sort of special vision?

"I didn't mean to frighten, I'm sorry. Here for your first wand?" He didn't phrase it as a question. Then again, this was a wand shop. "What's your name?"

I lowered my arms from where they had been at ready, taking a glance up towards my mother, and introduced myself. "Yes. My name is Taylor… Granger."

"Enchanted to meet you Miss Granger. And Mrs. Granger too." He nodded at my mother. "Now, which is your dominant hand?"

After measuring me from every possible angle, Mr. Ollivander gave a long but interesting introduction to how wands were usually made and the main components of his own brand of wands. Three cores, selected wood from magical trees and an anecdote about finding one in the middle of a Parisian park. He also gave a guideline of what one should just not do with a wand, and how to care for them. Wands weren't high-maintenance things, but it seemed they could be happier if kept in good condition. As he spoke, he went around the shop and into the back, collecting a sizeable stack of long, thin boxes.

He took out a dark coloured wand from a box and presented it to me. "Red oak and unicorn hair, nine inches and a half. Springy. Now, just give a wave."

I picked it up and flicked it using a wrist movement Professor McGonagall had used. The wood seemed to-

"No." Ollivander had grabbed the wand before it could do more than shoot a single bright spark in the air. He set it back into its box and opened another box from the pile. "Try this one."

Choosing my wand turned out to be remarkably like shopping for shoes with Lisa. Every time I tried something out, it got snatched away before I could actually try it out. Lisa took shoes off my feet or even boxes out of my hands and pushed new ones into them. Ollivander kept passing different wands to me, sometimes barely letting me touch them before he decided they weren't good. Hornbeam, pine, vine, ebony… with all three types of core.

And as I tried wand after wand, Ollivander growing more and more excited about my difficulties, I noticed something. The wands buzzed. No, not the wands. At the edge of my perception, I could hear indistinct, raspy murmurs. I could feel them, but there was never any time to focus on that white noise because the wandmaker kept pulling the wands from between my fingers. It was frustrating. I knew I was sensing something, something I dared to hope for.

At a wand of applewood and phoenix feather, I saw them. Stars, in my mind. Spiralling out to form a fantastic night sky and… blinking out. Going out of focus, fading a couple of seconds after the wood left my skin. I just barely stopped myself from snapping at the shopkeeper, settling instead for glaring at Ollivander, barely noticing the ash that floated around me.

"Almost, almost… I think I know just the wand for you, Miss Granger." The old man was as impervious as Lisa to my frustration. He cheerfully hurried to a shelf behind the counter, returning with yet another dusty box. "Fir and dragon heartstrings. Twelve inches, inflexible."

It was a light-coloured wand, with a simple criss cross pattern of slightly raised wood marking the wand's handle.

I took it and raised it above my head. My mind exploded into stars.

I closed my eyes, fighting the vertigo. More than I should have been able count, tiny, intricate knots of data unfolded before me. I unfolded, and suddenly I was everywhere. The air, the ground, the buildings, skittering between bricks, flying… I was flies, spiders and worms, things I didn't know the name of and things that I could barely wrap my head around. And when I twitched a leg, thousands of limbs twitched at my command. I had found them. My powers, slotted neatly into my senses like they'd never left me. Perhaps they hadn't, and I had only been unable to know they were there. Regardless, I felt like I could breathe again.

"Good, very good, Miss Granger. That is just the wand for you."

With a sigh, I opened my eyes. A thin coating of frost had covered an area around me. Mom smiled at me with pride even as she brushed glittering snowflakes from her black hair. Mr. Ollivanders was smiling with satisfaction. Then he extended the box towards me for me to put the wand in. Reluctantly, I returned the wand to Ollivanders. But when my fingers left the wood, my power didn't disappear.


	3. Mirrored Glass

**Riding Acromantulas and Understanding Magical Biology**

**Mirrored Glass**

* * *

><p>The girl with the unfamiliar Scar \ The Cupboard \ Wrong \ Running about \ Rocks on a stormy Sea \ Seeing the Other Side<p>

* * *

><p>It had been a long month since that day in Diagon Alley.<p>

I hadn't had time to reflect on how rushed my life had become after meeting the Undersiders. In retrospect, everything had happened so very fast. The bank, Bakuda, the Empire reveal, Leviathan…. The Nine. One after another without barely any time to breathe. And in those instances, I hadn't been able to rest either. There was always a goal, an enemy, something.

So August had passed by in a slow summer haze. Spending time with my parents had been stressing at first, trying not to give off any strange behavior, but I'd adapted. Walking Sirius with Dad, reading my new school books with Mom, having days out in London, even camping. My parents were obviously trying to give me the best summer ever before I left for Hogwarts. They'd succeeded, but not because of all their efforts. Just being able to be with be my mother again, to rest and unwind, was more than enough. It was like the clock had been turned back and I had returned to those days that, I had come to realize, were the happiest in my life.

The only thing that ruined it was the fact that it probably wasn't real, and quite possibly a trap.

Initially, I had thought that finding Sirius would give me an inkling of what was going on, a clue for the way out, but no. Sirius was just a dog after all. His presence helped and had me formulating new theories, but it only added more questions to those I already had. Amy Dallon, however….

I got up from the bench and whistled. Sirius raised his head from his paws, ears at attention. I opened the door and, at the threshold, commanded "Sirius. Watch." The labrador sat up and I left, satisfied.

I hadn't been idle a whole month. On my copious free time, I had tested whatever training Bitch had given Sirius and reinforced my position as pack leader over him. And with my powers back, I had worked on protecting myself. I'd weaved a full spider-silk costume, simple bodysuit without exoskeleton padding, in the attic of the house. London's spider population lacked black widows, so I'd made do with common garden orb weavers for silk and false widows for poison. I was wearing a skin tight vest and compression style shorts of the same material right now.

I dropped from the Hogwarts' Express carriage, scanning the crowd for Amy. I had bugs on her, but distances were tricky in this place. I hadn't been able to sense the Platform before passing through the barrier and trying to get a measure of both the outside and the inside of the train at the same time had given me a headache. Wizards were proving to be very frustrating indeed.

Amy had moved further into the platform and away from the barrier. I found her standing closer to the wall, in a corner with fewer people milling around. Good. That would make this easier. I stepped aside to dodge a collision and observed her. Amy didn't look much better than the last time I'd seen her. Less scared, for certain, but still small and wary. Actually, I noticed as the distance between us shortened, she seemed too small. I'd always been tall, but as an eleven years old Amy was tiny. Or was that the large, too large, clothes she was wearing, sitting on top of her trunk?

The large white owl that she had with her hooted at my approach and Amy turned from watching the crowd, meeting my eyes. I stopped a couple of steps away and waved. "Hello" I said. Amy returning the greeting weakly, but there was no sign that she had recognized me. I directed a ladybug from the small of my back to my fingers and pretended to examine it where she could see it. "I was wondering…. Does the name Panacea mean anything to you?"

Recognition, shock and half a dozen other emotions crossed her face before she shot back "Does Skitter to you?"

"Yeah." I nodded and indicated the train. "I've got an empty compartment in the train. We can talk more there."

Amy shied back, shooting a quick glance at the train and the crowd around it. Not good. She was being too suspicious, too guarded. I needed her to trust me. We couldn't talk about anything here, in the middle of the train station, but Amy obviously felt better by having witnesses around.

I struck my hand out. "I'm Taylor. Taylor Granger."

She looked at my hand for a moment before taking it. I felt a prickling run up my arm, but kept my composure. Finally, she let go of my hand and rose to her feet. "I'm... Amy, ah, Potter." She brushed her now long hair away from her face and I saw a scar on her forehead.

That was new. It looked too old and healed to have happened recently, and it was distinctly shaped like a lightning bolt. What had happened? I didn't have time to think about it. The insects with Sirius stirred to keep a better track of a pair of boys that seemed to be considering my compartment, watch dog or not.

"Want help with that?" I gestured to the large trunk and the owl in the cage.

"Yeah, hm…. Thanks."

Together we pushed the cart to the train and got her things on board with some difficulty. I'd had my father to help for my things and it had been much less crowded. Moving the heavy trunk in the narrow hallway was complicated with people running around and we bumped into several assholes that wouldn't move out of the way. Sirius started barking loudly and I excused myself, running ahead.

"Sirius. Down." I barked over the noise and turned to the older boys, a pair of red-haired twins younger than me, originally. "It's occupied."

"We just wanted to know who'd brought a dog" said one. "It's brilliant. Filch is going to freak" continued the other. "Yeah. You think your dog is up for chasing down a certain cat?" The first twin wiggled his eyebrows.

"What's going on?" Amy asked from behind me, pushing her trunk along.

I opened my mouth to tell her they were just leaving, when one of the boys leaned forward, eyes wide. "Fred. Is that?" "I think it is, George." "I can't believe it." "Neither can I. Wicked." I felt more than heard Amy sigh. The twins, Fred and George, looked at each other, at us, then at Sirius and finally, nodding at each other, turned around to leave. "See you around!" They whispered conspiratorially as they walked away, shooting glances at us. Or more correctly, at Amy.

I closed the compartment's door behind us and watched as Amy shoved her trunk carelessly into a corner and sunk into the seat. Sirius and her bird greeted each other, the labrador sniffing the owl's lowered beak before it decided the dog was bothering it and clapped its beak, straightening imperiously.

"So," I sat myself in front of her and asked casually, "what was that all about?"

Amy was silent for a few seconds, staring at me. I let her. "It… seems like I'm a celebrity in here too." She shrugged and expounded tiredly. "Except I'm not famous for being New Wave's miracle healer but for, well," she waved at the scar, "surviving."

* * *

><p>I woke up in the dark.<p>

The mattress was hard, the air chilly and the blankets scratchy against my skin. Not home. Of course not. Probably a shelter somewhere, judging by the accommodations. My head hurt. I swear, if I didn't remember last night because some Merchant roofied me I was going to… do something. I scoffed to myself. I really was pathetic. I needed to remember what had happened. Surprisingly, it wasn't that hard. Disjointed, surreal but...

Running from the Siberian. Running to the Siberian. Skitter. Riding those dogs and catching up to her and her turning and jumping towards us and- Waking up.

Oh God. Oh Fuck.

Now my eyes were wide open, any traces of sleep gone, swept away by panic. More than justified panic. The last thing I remembered was the Siberian jumping at me, ready to eat more of…

My fingers.

I fumbled in the dark, untangling my hands from the blankets. It didn't hurt that much. Had to be the shock, I was shaking. I could feel them. Phantom limb syndrome, whispered a part of me, coldly, clinically. I couldn't see them but I could feel with them and I could feel them. Something wasn't right here. This was too real. Even in the dark I saw… I saw my fingers intact. I couldn't suppress a whimper, whether or relief of distress I wasn't sure, as I touched them. From fingertip to knuckle, all there.

But the Siberian had… the Siberian had bitten them off. I remembered that all too clearly. Skitter had helped me clean the… missing places. Was I hallucinating? Were phantom limbs this real or were they actually real? Had I gotten them back somehow? Gotten healed? How?

How had I even survived the Siberian going nuclear? I should be dead.

Was I dead?

I thought it with a start and ended up hitting my head on something hard and painful. I managed to bite down a cry but tears sprang to my eyes. If this was death, it was still painful.

"Fuck." The curse echoed in the silence, reminding me of my surroundings, dark and cramped.

I was trapped. The walls seemed to press down on me. There was one possibility, one horrible possibility that explained my state and I didn't want to think it. I felt along the walls instead, carefully discovering shelves, where I'd hit myself on, clothing, books, an umbrella, bits and pieces. The ceiling was angled and low but not enough, I thought, for it to be impossible to stand. There was a door, wooden and worn. It was from those cracks that came the little light I had. Just enough for it to not be pitch black, barely enough to distinguish some contours. My hands, the mattress, other unidentifiable things. The only thing it confirmed was the complete unfamiliarity of this place.

A spider skittered lazily across my arm. I stopped, feeling its legs on my skin. But only the feather-light touch of its legs. Nothing else. I should have recognized the absence earlier. It had only been four, five days since I'd felt this powerless. Literally. My powers were being blocked.

Bonesaw.

She could have done this to me, she'd done it before with Hack Job. I shuddered at the memory, only to hug myself at the idea that she had likely fixed me too. I ran my thumb over where my palm met my fingers. There was no stitch or scar I could feel. The Nine had me. Why was I this calm? I was in the custody of the Slaughterhouse Nine, probably at the request of Bonesaw. I had every reason in the world to be breaking into hysterics but I only felt… empty.

I hugged my arms around myself, digging my nails into my arms. The pain was little, but it was something. I dug them in harder.

My body wasn't right, nothing was right, and I was helpless against it all. That was probably why I couldn't find energy in myself to feel anything but this hopelessness.

It was dark. Victoria loved waking me up by throwing the curtains open. I needed more sunlight, she said, like I was a flower. The noise the blinds in my room made being opened just wasn't enough, that was all. I often had trouble falling asleep so I overslept. Victoria was always up sinfully early, even when she patrolled at night.

I must have drifted off, because the voices startled me. How long had I just been there, sitting with my back against the wall?

There were three voices. I didn't recognize any of them. A woman, shrill; a man, booming, and a boy, probably. They sounded, even with words indistinct through the plaster and wood, like characters straight out of one of those rom-com shows. A perfect, idyllic, ridiculous fake family. Bonesaw had wanted a sister, hadn't she?

When was the laugh track going to play?

"Where is the girl?" I froze, pressed myself harder against the wall. Who could they be talking about but me? "Useless … is ...?" There were footsteps. Going away, then towards me. I held my breath and they passed by the door, just outside. But before I could be relieved they were coming back.

The door opened and a woman looked down at me. I didn't know her. She was blonde and thin, but not healthily like Carol and Aunt Sarah. The woman scowled deeply and shut the door with a bang. "If you're not in the kitchen in five minutes, you don't get dinner!" She screeched.

What?

What was going on? I couldn't breathe. Wet trails, tears, ran down my cheeks and I struggled to be quiet. I didn't dare move from my place. Not when the woman came back and there was the rattling sound of a key turning in the darkness. Not when I started smelling meat roasting or when there was the clinking of silverware. I just tucked the blanket tighter around myself.

I didn't understand. I didn't understand anything at all.

* * *

><p>I fell asleep, eventually. Not an easy sleep, but I hadn't had a single full night of shuteye that wasn't fueled by exhaustion since… well, since Leviathan. The woman from before startled me awake, banging on the door, telling me to get up. I didn't want to. What was the point? I was sore all over and my fingers hurt too. Then the smell of bacon frying waffed over and I realized I was really, really hungry. That was another thing. I felt pain, I felt hunger and thirst. This was no paltry illusion. So I got up. There was no point in staying in hiding when they could come and get me at any time.<p>

The doorknob mystified me for a long moment. It was chest height. Most doorknobs came around my waist level. I swallowed my confusion and suspicions and opened the door. A hallway stretched to my left and right. The walls were white, there were happy pictures frames hung at neat intervals and a small table with fresh flowers. And behind me was the stairwell. I'd just come out of a cupboard, the kind that filled in the space under the stairs.

That wasn't really shocking. What made me stop was the scale of everything around me. The doorknob. It wasn't the door that was big, it was me who was small. Smaller.

Out of the dark cupboard, I looked down at myself. I nearly swam inside my clothes, a enormous t-shirt and a pair of shorts that hung over knobby knees. Yet for all my skinniness, my hands and cheeks were slightly chubby. Baby fat, just like when I had been a kid. I didn't think I had ever been this thin when I was young, I'd lost weight only more recently, but otherwise… I needed a mirror to check.

My stomach took that moment to announce how displeased it was with me. I moved to the tiled kitchen I saw to my right. The bacon smelled delicious but it was marred by the sight of the woman standing in front of the pan, a flowery apron around her waist.

"Watch over the bacon and don't let it burn," she snapped at me.

I did. What was I supposed to do? There were so many questions I wanted to ask: who was she, where was I, what was going on? I didn't think she would answer me. It was the way she'd ordered me and how she scowled when she caught me observing her. I turned back to my task. The sight of bacon sizzling on the pan was almost too much. Would anything happen if I grabbed a strip?

Then the owners of the two other voices I had heard came in, a father and son pair. They couldn't be more different from the woman. Fat, obese, jiggling balls of lard. It would have been funny if it wasn't so repugnant. The boy in particular couldn't have been older than thirteen, but he was heading for a heart-attack at twenty. I was suddenly very glad I didn't have my power. That level of lipids was disgusting, no matter how you perceived it.

The boy caught me staring and swung a stick at me with a nasty smile on his face. What the fuck? It hit me on the shin. "Ow!"

"Good one Dudley!" The man laughed, then turned to kiss the woman's cheek. "Good morning Pet."

And just like that, the day continued as normal. Like the boy, Dudley, hadn't hit me with a walking stick of some kind. Pet, which couldn't be her full name, shooed me from where I was as I gaped and started serving breakfast. It took me a moment to realize they actually had a plate for me. They ignored me completely, unless it was to look at me disapprovingly.

Only when a sound was heard from outside did I finally get acknowledged.

"Go get the mail, Dudley," drawled Vernon, not taking his eyes from the newspaper. A newspaper from 1991. Strangely, it fit. The kitchen was old-fashioned. So were the clothes the woman was wearing, and the way she had her hair done. I'd peg it as a fifties style, more or less a decade. Not like I knew anything about fashion myself, that was Vicky's territory...

"Make Amy get it."

"Go get the mail, Amy."

I gladly left the kitchen.

I wasn't religious. Nobody in my family, in New Wave, really was. Except maybe Eric, who'd prayed before the fight against Leviathan... Anyway, I didn't believe in the afterlife. Maybe we were wrong about that, because surely I was in Hell. I had probably died at the hands of the Siberian and been sent here for my sins. No nightmare or illusion could be this real and this painful. This perfectly tailored to me.

Three blondes, a happy family with a happily married couple and a beloved son. Except for one little thing. The adopted kid. Me. A twisted version of my… my family. In looks, in behavior, in the way Vernon was a happy man, and Petunia a good house-wife, and Dudley…. And they hated me. They reviled me. Every look and glower I'd received from Carol this last month, the way they ignored me like Victoria had had to ever since….

A twisted, twisted version of my family, like all my nightmares and insecurities brought to life. Because I had twisted Victoria? It fit. Irony, right?

So yeah, definitely Hell.

I dropped the letters that had been in the mailbox on the table and went back to my bacon. I wasn't going to start crying now. I wasn't…

"Dad! Amy has mail!" Exclaimed Dudley suddenly.

My head snapped up to see him waving a letter over his head. It looked like it was made of heavier paper. Then Vernon's hand shot forth with a speed I didn't think he'd be capable of achieving and ripped it from his hands. He opened it and read a couple of lines at most, face becoming paler and paler. He and Petunia shared a long look, the woman bracing herself on the counter and giving a little whimper at whatever she saw in his face. Their eyes turned to me.

They were afraid.

That hurt. Even from these people, that hurt.

Dudley and I got thrown out of the kitchen. He raged, screamed and cried to no avail, and hit me with his stick as a form of protest. I ran and went to look for a bathroom in this unknown house instead. There turned out to exist one in the first floor.

On the mirror, there I was, but not as I knew myself. Younger. I didn't think I'd ever looked like this before. I was a mess. My hair had reached nightmare-levels of frizziness and my freckles had decided to follow its example and were everywhere. That was before one counted the bags underneath my bloodshot eyes. I sniffed. How had this happened? I really didn't know anything anymore. Dying and being in Hell was always a possibility. Probably better than being at the mercy of the Slaughterhouse Nine. But it had evolved into such a nonsense of too many things that I just didn't care anymore. I had been de-aged. Who, what, how the fuck?

"Wait." On my forehead. That hadn't been there before. A lightning bolt scar. I prodded it carefully. A searing pain shot through my head and I withdrew my fingers with a hiss. A blinding headache pounded beneath my forehead as I squinted at my young reflection.

Hell.

* * *

><p>That morning, Vernon kindly took me aside and explained that since I was growing up so fast, I would be getting my own room as an early birthday present. He made it sound like I should be grateful, I knew that tone well enough.<p>

Dudley threw a fit because he used that room to store his stuff. I was expecting something like a big closet, but it was an actual room, with an old bed and everything. After I got over being completely appalled, I felt tempted to punch him. But Dudley had at least fifty pounds and a full foot on me. His parents wouldn't blink if he hit me back. Chances were they'd cheer him on.

So I moved my meager possessions from the cupboard to my new room. And then I spent the next couple of days locked in. Petunia brought me food, always cold, and supervised me on my to and from the bathroom just next door.

I was starting to think this was some sort of ploy. The Dursleys, a name I'd overheard from the window, were doing their very best to stop somebody from contacting me. Who it was that wanted to talk to me, by letter I might add, I had no clue. It just brought more questions to the fore. Who were the Dursley? Captors, guardians, mastered minions? And where was I? From the window I could only see white, picket fence houses with neat front yards.

I would ask for a newspaper, if I thought I had a chance I'd get it. Worse, I might lose some meals if I did and I didn't want to experience that hunger again. That almost bone-deep, physically painful gnawing in my stomach.

I had also considered making an escape. I could wait until Petunia came to feed me and bolt. Leaving the house couldn't be that hard. If I really got desperate, I could always jump through the window. A two-storey drop wasn't that much, most people didn't even break bones from it. Micro-fractures, sprains, bruises? Yes. But no fractures, not if it was done right. The problem was: then what? I didn't know what was out there and I looked like an ten year old kid. Who would take me seriously and help? If there was anybody out there who would. I didn't even know when was out there, or if there really was an 'out there', for god's sake.

Maybe this was all just in my head. A fever dream or something. Either way, and knowing both my dreams and my luck, I didn't think I'd manage to… what? Go back? I didn't even know what to do. So I waited for an opportunity to present itself. I explored my room, read books and tried not to get very bored. Getting bored usually meant I started thinking about how hopeless this all was, or worse things. Like what I had done.

Things weren't idle outside. Dudley came by to make noise, call me names and generally just be an annoyance. But he told me things too. More letters had started arriving. He didn't seem to know why, apparently just as confused as I was. Who'd want to speak with me after all? And why try so hard?

Vernon was losing it. On my third day locked in, Dudley told me he had nailed up the mail slot. The next day letters had apparently been coming in from under the door and Vernon barricaded the doors, preventing anybody from coming in or out of the house. Petunia had started looking scared, gnawing her lip and wringing her hands. Dudley was pissed and spent a lot of time raging at my door, telling me it was my fault before going away to play videogames.

I started regretting not making an escape earlier. With the doors closed, there was nowhere to run if Vernon decided to do something drastic. I didn't even have the window anymore, because of all the windows in the house, mine was the one he'd remembered to board up. I tried getting the planks loose, but none of the junk cluttering around the room gave me enough leverage, not with my skinny arms. Once again, a time in which I wished for a simple straightforward power like Victoria's. So much of my life's problems would be gone if I could only just punch things hard enough. Instead of having my powers. Which I didn't even have right now.

I was trapped.

The fifth day, I didn't get breakfast. There was a commotion downstairs and I heard Vernon yelling before his footsteps thundered up the stairs. He was half covered in sooth, his beady eyes barely visible in a face purple with rage. A familiar letter was crumpled in his fist. I pressed myself against the wall and prepared to dive under his arms.

"You." He took a deep breath and his mustache trembled furiously, but his coloration went from eggplant to tomato. Well, there went the chances of a convenient heart-attack. "Pack your things. In the car in five minutes." And in under five minutes he had everybody in the car. Dudley was crying, since his father hadn't let him bring all of his stuff, but the man had looked so dangerous and big that no arguments were heard.

And then we drove on and on and on.

I stopped thinking that they were going to kill me and dump the body after the fourth or fifth time the maniac on the wheel did a complete one-hundred-and-eighty to shake them off. Whoever it was, but most likely whoever was behind the letters. I didn't ask. Vernon kept muttering under his breath, twitching periodically. Looking out the window, I read the signs, saw the sights, and only got more confused. I didn't get any real confirmation until night fell and we stopped in a dingy hotel at the entrance of Cokeworth. The TV was on during dinner and I caught the news.

The day was the twenty-eighth of July, and the weather was going to be windy tomorrow. Storms were expected by nightfall.

In southern England. That explained the accents. Also: in 1991. Which explained much, but not the lack of any mentions to the King's Men, or capes. Or anything.

That was it. Tomorrow I was going to find a way to escape, no matter what.

* * *

><p>The opportunity came mid-afternoon. I would have tried to sneak away just after breakfast but didn't get the chance. Vernon had dragged us all out of the hotel, barely remembering to pay for our stay, when a clerk had come asking about the hundred or so letters at the front desk. They were persistent, I'd give them that, but I'd really rather have the fat-ass calm down so I could run off.<p>

Unable to escape the mysterious letters of green ink of doom, Vernon got even more paranoid. He now avoided urban areas and started to make brief stops in isolated places, taking just enough time to step out of the car and survey the general area. Dudley kept moaning about his misfortune next to me, but even he'd proposed that his father had simply lost his marbles. As for me, I waited until Vernon finally stopped somewhere appropriate.

The forest was perfect. After passing the treeline, it would be easy to hide until the Dursleys gave up, or to follow along the road under the cover of the shrubbery. The nearest village wasn't that far away, I thought. Vernon stopped the car and leveraged himself with difficulty out of his seat. I unclipped my seatbelt as quietly as I could. He examined the trees like a meerkat, grumbling to himself. As soon as he gets in again, I told myself. He shook his head, like he had done the previous dozen times, and opened the driver seat door.

I opened mine and ran. I'd just gotten to the treeline amongst cries of shock, when Vernon finally got his shit together. He roared like a madman, barreling into the vegetation after me. I weaved into the bushes. I had underestimated how fast he could be, the length of his strides and the force of his fury. I'd also overestimated my own fitness, but I knew I could beat him in a contest of endurance. I just needed to keep ahead. Just-

I tripped and face-planted on the dirt. The sharp pain of a cramped muscle pulsed in my calf. No! This couldn't be happening. I tried to stand but my leg gave under me. Fuck it, fuck me!

"You little freak!" The hunter had caught me. I had to get up. Now, Amy, now!

I scrambled, but a meaty hand got me by my shoulder and spun me around. He was going to strike me. I raised my arms and. And a tingling wave swept across my skin. Vernon yelped and let me go.

I took a reflexive step back and looked down on my hands. I didn't need my eyes. I was looking for something far too small to be seen by the naked eye. But I could sense it. I knew this feeling. Constantly in motion, living, a background noise I didn't think I'd ever miss so much. I laughed.

Vernon's second backhand connected sent me to the ground. Ow, fucker. But I wasn't really mad, even as he marched me over to the road again by the neck, half-strangling me. I had it back. I could feel Vernon, predictably unhealthy, fat and muscle and bones and stomach. Wow, was he under a huge amount of stress. But what I liked was being able to feel the staphylococcus on my skin again. The round bacteria going about their life, simple metabolisms just re-treading the same path as they had for millions of years. I'd missed this, just watching as they went about their programmed life, uncaring about the greater world. They replicated, divided, grew…

… disappeared.

Wait.

No. Where were they going? Wait!

One by one the bacteria faded from my perception, Vernon's physiology losing definition until it was just… gone.

And then that asshole threw me. I curled in, covering my head but no other blow came. I looked up just in time to see him close the trunk's lid. With me inside.

"No! Fuck!" I yelled and kicked the trunk's roof. "Fuck you! Fuck! You!"

The car started, rumbling under me. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. He'd left me in the trunk of his fucking car. That was dangerous. This was dangerous. Shit.

No, I had been trained for this. Getting kidnapped 101. What if somebody decides potential parahumans are good enough to piss off the New Wave and, paragraph 3 or something, grab you and shove you in a trunk? I remembered Uncle Neil talking to us in his house, trying to make a bunch of kids understand how serious what they were going to do was. Victoria lapped it up, of course.

The state of mind was surprisingly easy to slip into. This was no Slaughterhouse Nine. I'd been through that. This was just old, fat Vernon Dursley who locked me in a room and slapped me around. He didn't literally cobble people together or practice cannibalism.

I had to keep calm. These things weren't airtight, but hyperventilating was still a danger. Other than regular asphyxiation, the problem was hyperthermia. And it was the middle of summer. In England, but summer. Fuck. I struggled to remember the weather forecast. I hadn't paid attention to the temperatures but I remembered the promise of a storm. It had been overcast and it was past the time of greater heat. No need to panic.

Did cars in the Nineties have safety release mechanisms? I didn't think so, but I still tried to find something, anything.

I could survive this, I just had to remain calm. I just… had to remain calm.

My fingers were hurting again.

* * *

><p>The cold sea breeze felt heavenly against my face. Every occasional drop of rain was a welcome balm. The clouds covered the sky from one edge to the other and the grey waves rolled uneasily, hints of foam appearing as they broke against the pier's rocks.<p>

A storm was coming.

Good one. Point for melodrama, me.

Vernon was not here. He'd gone… off, somewhere. I couldn't muster any energy to run. As it was, I was using the little I had left to stay standing. Both of my legs and an arm had fallen asleep, that fucking cramp was still there and my back had innumerable new knots. My cheek stung and everything else felt like jelly. The worse were my fingers. They hurt. I flexed them periodically, checking if everything was alright.

It was strange. Maybe it was the sight of the agitated ocean... sea? Was this the Atlantic, the North Sea or the Channel? It didn't really matter. But it had just dawned on me again how unreal this was. Which was strange, in a way, since there were no capes or powers on anything strange. Besides those letters. The world was so ordinary that it felt… too normal to be real. Surreal.

I was too tired to move but not tired enough to not think. As Vernon returned with an old man in tow, I couldn't but think that he was Mark's complete opposite in both attitude and physique. I'd resented Mark a few times. We both did, but as we grew up it started being clear to us that it wasn't his fault, that he was just ill.

I missed Mark. I hoped I hadn't fucked up with him.

Vernon got us into a dingy rowboat and, while I wondered how it wasn't sinking under the weight, got us out to a little cabin on a rock in the middle of the stormy sea, if the structure could be called a cabin at all. The shack looked for all purposes like a good wave could sweet it off the rock whole. Only Vernon seemed to not realize that, looking in fact very happy with himself. Well, if I died tonight, again or not, I had the consolation that the Dursleys would too. I really was a horrible person. Maybe Dudley's fat would give him enough buoyancy. Petunia could cling to her husband and I'd just swim to the shore before running like hell.

The weather worsened as we ate a miserable dinner. I consoled myself that this time at least, the Dursleys ate the same as me. However, Dudley got the single, old couch, so I was left to find a minimally comfortable position on the slightly wet, hard floor.

The minutes ticked by. Even as lethargic as I felt, the sleep wouldn't come. The storm raged just outside the thin wooden walls. Then,

BOOM

The whole building shook. The crash came again, nearly taking the door off its hinges. A brute was knocking at the door of a hut, on a rock, in the sea, during a storm. Complete nonsense.

It had to be something to do with the letters.

What should I do? Vernon took that choice away, crashing into our room with a fucking rifle, shouting "Go away! I'm armed! And I tell you, I'm-"

BOOOM

The door finally succumbed, crashing to the ground.

A giant of a man peered inside the hut before squeezing himself in. He had to bend over slightly to fit in, being easily nine feet tall and proportionally larger. With a wildman's hair, draped in leathers and furs, he looked like Fenja and Menja's smaller, hairier viking cousin. The Dursleys had dropped into complete silence. Then he picked up the door, somehow still in one piece, and slotted back it in the doorway.

"There yeh go." He passed a hand on his beard, rinsing the water from it, and gave the four of us a glance over. "Yeh coul' have made me some tea. It wasn' an easy trip, yeh know?" His eyes settled on me and I saw him smile. "An' here's Amy!" He took a long stride towards me, sunk down into a crouch that didn't help the height difference that much and smiled warmly. "Yeh're so grown up! Las' time I saw yeh, yeh were a tiny little baby. You look jus' like yer dad... but yeh've got yer mom's nose." He sniffed emotionally, took out a handkerchief from somewhere in his huge coat and blew his nose. Then, somehow looking sheepish despite his stature, he took out a box from another pocket. "Almos' forgot. Got summat for yeh here, Amy. Might be a bit squashed but er…. A very happy birthday to yeh."

My… parents? My birthday? I accepted the package, my nose already telling me what it was. Cake? Yes, it was a chocolate cake with my name on it. "Er. Thank you." My birthday was in October. "You… knew them? My parents?"

"O' course I knew 'em! Knew 'em since they were students at Hogwarts, I did!" He seemed to realize something. "Ah, righ', yeh don' know who I am. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. Jus' call me Hagrid, everybody does." He offered me his hand for a handshake. It was the size of a dinner plate. Or bigger.

"Nice to meet you." I supposed. I accepted the handshake and regretted it as he nearly tore my arm off with his enthusiasm. Still, I didn't think he'd done it maliciously. There was a sort of eagerness, of friendliness in this Hagrid that I hadn't seen for a long time. It was nice. "I don't suppose you could answer me a few questions?"

"O' course I can!" Hagrid nodded. Somewhere to my left, Petunia squeaked like a mouse being stepped on.

"So, what's up with the letters? Are you the one behind them?" Hagrid blinked his beady eyes at me, seemingly at a loss. I pressed on. "What about… Hogwarts?" Should I ask about me just being here? Wherever this whole world was? Would he be able to answer me? Also, something that had been bothering me. "And how did you even get here?"

"Wha'... Yeh… Yeh..." He stood up suddenly, looming over the Dursleys. Hagrid's jaw worked to form words. His head strained against the ceiling, forming an intimidating picture, and his shoulders trembled with rage. Dudley squealed and literally hid behind his mother's skirts. All three of their faces were pale like wax. "Are yeh tellin' me this girl doesn' know about anythin'? Anything!?" He boomed.

So, Vernon shoot him. I'd seen this happen too many times to count. It was just like seeing some two-bit thug with an itchy finger, suddenly faced with the weight of not Victoria Dallon's, but Glory Girl's aura. They pulled the trigger.

Inside the hut, the shot boomed like thunder from the storm outside.

Hagrid reacted eerily similar to Victoria. No, he showed restraint, compared to my sister. He took a hand to his shoulder, slipped his fingers under the fur coat and retrieve a squished piece of lead with a grunt. Just as blank-faced as Victoria was when the bullets fell down to the ground and pinged quietly. Then his face hardened. He reached forward, took the gun from the bastard's hands and then tied it around his wrists like it was made of rubber instead of metal. Good old brute trick when zip-ties aren't available.

Vernon's mouth moved up and down but no sound came out. His eyes moved from his wrists to Hagrid in quick succession. He squeaked. Petunia pulled him and Dudley into the other room and slammed the door.

Hagrid stood silently for a few moments, then sank down on the moldy couch, springs protesting under his weight. "Can' believe it." He ran his hands over his face, scratched the top of his head, muttering to himself. "So yeh don' know. About Hogwarts, yer parents?" I shook my head. "Magic?" He sounded almost hopeful.

I was still trying to figure out why I was ten again. "Sorry?"

"Blimey Amy. Yeh, yeh've nothin' to be sorry about..." He took a deep breath, face turning serious. "Amy, yeh're a witch."

I... was pretty sure he didn't mean it that way. "You mean, I have powers?" I used to, anyway.

"Yep." Hagrid nodded. "Don' things sometimes happen when yeh're scared or angry?"

There was some sort of miscommunication going on here. I didn't think we were talking about the same thing… or maybe we were. Back in the forest, something had happened. "Yeah."

"That's yer magic!"

"And my parents?" I insisted.

Hagrid sobered. "Yer parents… yer parents were the best wizards I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts. And after…." He stopped and stared at me for a moment, looking completely out of his depth. "How can yeh, Amy Potter, not know yer story when every kid in our world knows yer name? They were heroes, Amy... Yeh're… Yeh're a hero."

* * *

><p>"Survive?" Skitter frowned. The girl named Taylor.<p>

I hadn't been expecting that. But then again, I'd been holding on to her when it'd happened. So it made a sort of sense. It looked like maybe, just maybe, I wasn't in a coma somewhere, dreaming a world of wizards, witches and their secret society. Or maybe I was, and this was just the way my brain decided to screw me over, by sticking bug-girl with me. And that was a bit unfair. She hadn't done anything yet.

At least I wasn't alone anymore.

"Yeah. It's, hm… Do you know who Grindelwald was?"

She nodded. "I know some. Magic Hitler, basically? He used the second World War's chaos to try and topple the government, and then he wanted to enslave normal people. Like those parahuman supremacists." Well, she knew a lot already. I raised an eyebrow. Skitter shrugged her shoulders. "I was just reading something about that."

"Right. Do you know about Voldemort then?"

"I've seen his name mentioned once or twice. Another Dark Wizard?"

"Yep. A british one." Though the name was clearly french for some reason. "Voldemort was like Allfather or Kaiser to Grindelwald. A neo-nazi to the nazi. He had his own Empire 88, called the Death Eaters." I smiled at the name, even if it wasn't funny at all. "They had something against muggles, but mostly against muggleborns." I noticed Skitter frowning. "Apparently, my mother here was a muggleborn so…"

"Brandish?" She asked.

"No." And thank god for that, for varied reasons. "My… biological mother? I don't know. You're the first person from… well, from home that I've met."

She processed that and patted the black dog by our feet. "Sirius is from home too."

"Really?" One of Hellhound's dogs? Were there other people we knew out there?

"Yeah. You were saying?"

"Right, right. So, anyway, my parents were being hunted." It was still strange, thinking of my parents, my real parents, being hunted by a villain. But they had been heroes, here. "One day he caught them and, well, he killed them."

Skitter twitched slightly. It was easier to read her without the full-face mask. And the cloud of creepy-crawlies, that too. "Sorry."

I shrugged, self-consciously. "It's okay. I never knew them, and it's not like I'm sure they were my real parents anyway." Sometimes I wondered if I'd feel the same about Marquis. If he'd been killed, would I mourn him? I didn't remember him either.

"So… you survived?" That wasn't a particularly skilled topic change.

"Supposedly, Voldemort tried to kill me next. I was one and he was a baby-killing bastard." I couldn't help but frown. Hearing Hagrid talking about him, you'd think he was talking about Jack Slash. He'd certainly been cut from the same cloth. "He… dunno, cast his spell of death," I gestured vaguely, "and when the dust settled the house was destroyed, I was still alive and he'd disappeared."

She leaned forward. "Disappeared?

"Dead. Or at least, close enough. The popular opinion is that he's still roaming around like a ghost, too weak to do anything. People are actually still scared of saying his name. They call him You-Know-Who to avoid saying Voldemort, like… well, like some people avoid mentioning the Endbringers." Hagrid thought he wasn't even human anymore. Something like Crawler or the Blasphemies. I honestly couldn't even begin to compare a man, no matter how powerful, to those monsters. Not even Eidolon. They were just…. "Anyway, the people he had mastered suddenly snapped out of it and the war turned around in a single night. End of story, I got this scar from his last curse and became a national hero." And I'd gotten stranded with the Dursleys, but who cared about that?

Skitter hummed and sat back, observing me. "I see."

She was… not very unlike what I'd expected. Tall, lanky, skittering almost. I'd already known how her hair was from the bank and I'd gotten an idea of her general bone structure from that particular fiasco after Leviathan. I couldn't visualize faces, that wasn't how my powers worked, but I'd gotten the impression of a long face, a wider mouth. Glasses for her myopia. I could see hints of those final traits in this child. I'd probably find her serious countenance cute for a ten year old… if I hadn't known what she was capable of.

The train whistled sharply and the platform burst into frantic movement. We looked out of the window, seeing parents and children hurry before the train left them behind. There was an annoyed hoot behind me and I turned to see my owl puff up her feathers at the increasing noise.

I reached to scratch her head and couldn't help but reminisce.

* * *

><p>Hagrid spent a lot of time explaining the magical world to me that night. I finally got my letter and we had tea with sausages and chocolate cake. The Dursleys didn't dare bother us. All in all, the best night I had ever since waking up on the other side of the pond. And possibly, of the interdimensional universe.<p>

Hagrid was, I'd found, something of a gentle giant. He kept mice and owls in his pockets, liked tea and, sometimes, was very careful with me. Powerful brutes were like that with normal people. Still, when morning came, I had to stop him from getting to Vernon and doing something he'd regret. I didn't really care about him, but I didn't want Hagrid to get in trouble. Vernon wasn't worth it. I didn't think wizards could be excused from straight up murder. I even managed to convince him that I had tripped in the stairs.

We caught a train to London and, after many strange looks our way, I finally got a good look at my reflection while helping Hagrid with 'muggle money'. Hagrid's fury was understandable, and so were the concerned glances the teller threw at me. An ugly, purple bruise had bloomed from my cheekbone to my jaw. It explained the ache I had when I opened my mouth.

But aside from that, everything was fine and dandy… until we entered the Leaky Cauldron.

Then I discovered that being The-Girl-Who-Lived, hyphenated and capitalized, was actually a lot like being Panacea. Namely, the part in which I got mobbed by… admirers.

"Amy Potter!" "An honour, a true honour to finally meet you…" "Dear me, what happened to you?" "Welcome back Ms. Potter!" "Crockford, Doris Crockford at your service." "Please, Ms. Potter…"

My favored strategy was to go 'no comment' and move on. I'd never been the social one, the media-darling Victoria was. My uniform actually hid my face pretty well, something Carol had always disapproved of. This was much like the first weeks after I'd officially debuted. Back then, I cowered behind Victoria and let her take the lead. Here, I hid behind Hagrid until he finally got the hint and ushered me out of the pub.

I could only hope that, much like what had happened to Panacea, the worship would die out as people got used to see me around.

Hagrid took me straight to an Apothecary, which did look like a pharmacist. From the Middle Ages. Roots, plants and animals parts in sacks, barrels and boxes; shelves lined with potions, ointments and plasters; a witch in a pointy hat at the register. This place, more than anything else in Diagon Alley, looked like something out of a magic book.

Hagrid pushed my reluctant self inside the shop. "Err, 'scuse me. Would yeh have summat fer bruises?"

The woman took one good look at my face, gasped and rushed from behind the counter. "Oh dear, how did this happen?" Her eyes alternated between my forehead and my cheek.

"I fell down the stairs." Yes, that was the excuse I was using. In a hospital, it would have invited a quiet investigation. This witch's eyebrows rose in incredulity. "Could I have something for my leg too? I think I might have sprained it when I fell." But I was a much better liar than a ten or eleven year old child. Seeing as I was seventeen and all.

"Right deary," Urgh. "This will be just an instant." She took out a stick, a wand, from her robes and, while muttering some gibberish, poked me right on the bruise. It didn't hurt. Instead, I felt a cool sensation spread from the point of contact. "There."

That… was kind of amazing. As fast as I was. I prodded and checked her work as Hagrid insisted that he'd pay her back and she rebutted that it had been an honor and it wasn't necessary, etcetera….

Gringotts, the bank, had logically been our next stop. The only shopping that could be done without cash was window-shopping. Hagrid had assured me that my parents, the Potters, had left me their fortune. But...

"Okay…. This is… ah…" I gazed at the piles of gold, silver and bronze coins that littered the vault. My vault. Some of the stacks were taller than me. "...a lot." I turned to the stoic goblin that had driven us here. "How much is this worth? In dollars. Err, pounds?"

"Currently, the exchange rate is five pounds to a galleon, approximately…"

"That's okay." I interrupted him. "Thank you, I think I got the idea…" I was swimming in shit-loads of money. Quite possibly literally too. All I'd have to do was build a pool…. Fortune was severely underselling it.

"... the exchange rate how many pounds to galleon again?"

But the best part of that day hadn't been that. It hadn't been getting my wand and my powers back with it, either. Far from it. The best part was when Hagrid took me to the Owl Emporium.

There were a lot of owls, of a dozen different species and thrice as many colors, but only one for me. A beautiful snowy owl, almost pure white, that had proudly regarded me from her perch. Graceful and dignified, she had reminded me so much of...

"Victoria."

I hadn't meant to say it out loud, but she didn't accept any other name after that.


End file.
